


good for you

by feeltripping



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Bottom Lexa, Edging, F/F, Face-Sitting, Spanking, Top Clarke, Vibrators, very light D/s
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-29
Updated: 2016-09-29
Packaged: 2018-08-18 12:08:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8161597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feeltripping/pseuds/feeltripping
Summary: fill for tumblr prompt:-Clarke/Lexa vibrator play, edging, spanking-Clarke waking up to Lexa masturbating in bed beside her





	

Lexa comes home with a bottle of champagne. She pops it above the sink and Clarke holds the flutes. “Cheers,” Lexa says, smiling, and they clink. 

“It’s Friday,” Clarke hums, pushing Lexa to the couch. She stops and looks at Lexa sprawled out, shirt faintly creased and collar undone, a flush spreading down her chest. Her hair is windswept and her fingers are long and slender around her glass, her throat working as she drinks. “Take off your shirt,” Clarke says, low, and sips, letting the bubbles fizz on her tongue as Lexa sits up, putting her flute aside to slip out of her shirt. She tosses it aside and Clarke gulps the last of the champagne, setting it aside. She straddles Lexa and runs her fingers over Lexa’s hips, across her belly button. “Three day weekend,” she murmurs against Lexa’s lips. Then, surprising them both, she yawns hard enough her jaw cracks. Lexa blinks. Then she dissolves into giggles, hand over her mouth. Clarke licks her cheek and sits back, huffing.

“See if you’re not tired after your first week of residency.”

Lexa tugs Clarke against her chest, cuddling. “We have all weekend,” she murmurs, and reaches for the remote. Clarke mouthes against her collarbones, settling with her ear over Lexa’s heart. She listens to the television with half an ear and barely manages to stir when Lexa carries her to bed. 

“Tomorrow,” she mumbles, flailing an arm out to pull Lexa closer. “Sex. Orgasm.” She nuzzles against the pillow. “Your mouth.”

Lexa kisses her forehead. “Go to sleep, Clarke.”

++

Clarke wakes up and the room is pitch dark. She stretches out, very slightly, and twitches her fingers, searching for Lexa. They slide over sheets and she blinks twice, waking up a little. There’s breathing beside her, fast and choked-quiet, and an almost silent wet sound Clarke recognizes. “Lex--?” her voice rasps, rough with sleep, and she wiggles until their hips touch. Lexa is frozen, tensed muscles. 

“Sorry,” she whispers, and kisses Clarke’s shoulder, where her shirt has fallen down. “Go back to sleep.”

“What’re you doin’?”

A short, guilty silence. “Nothing.”

Clarke sits up. “What were you doing.”

Her eyes have adjusted--she can see Lexa’s outline under the covers. She yanks them back and Lexa grumbles at the rush of cold, her legs bare and one in her underwear. “I didn’t want to wake you,” Lexa mutters, sliding the hand up to rest on her belly. 

Clarke takes her by the wrist and draws her fingers into Clarke’s mouth, sucking softly. Lexa’s breath hitches. Clarke finishes with a lick across Lexa’s palm, feeling Lexa’s lifeline on her tongue. “You taste good.”

Lexa’s legs twitch. They widen, incrementally. “Clarke,” she breathes, and tugs on Clarke’s arm. Clarke slides into their kiss, sleep soft and dry lipped, chests pressed together. Lexa plucks at the hem of her shirt until she yanks it off with one hand. Lexa’s mouth falls to her chest, nipping and suckling, and Clarke moans, ragged. Lexa’s fingers slip under her shorts, and Clarke reaches under herself to hold Lexa’s wrist rigid, grinding on her palm. 

“I guess I should be offended,” Clarke gasps, her hips quickening. “Going solo when I’m right here.”

“Going solo,” Lexa repeats, bemused. Clarke braces a hand on her chest, then slides it up to curl around her throat. Lexa’s eyes go wide and she sucks in a breath, swallowing into the junction of Clarke’s thumb and forefinger. “Fuck,” she manages, and Clarke moans again. 

Lexa’s hands find her hips and push her down until she’s straddling one of Lexa’s legs, guiding her into riding her upper thigh and grinding down onto her hipbone. She drops her weight, rocking, and Lexa’s legs wrap around her, her ankles locking together in the small of Clarke’s back and urging her faster. “Punish me later,” she gasps, her breathing wet, neck arched back. Clarke leans down to bite her throat, growling, and they come together, shuddery moans and slick sloppy kisses.

++

Lexa’s still sleeping when Clarke comes in with breakfast on a tray. Clarke waves a slice of pineapple under her nose and Lexa’s eyes open immediately. She eats it from Clarke’s fingers, and sighs, long and pleased, before sitting up and stretching. “Come here,” she murmurs, and kisses Clarke deep. “Good morning.”

“Morning.” They eat on top of the sheets, feeding each other by hand, and Clarke chases the buttery crumbs at the corners of Lexa’s mouth with her tongue. The tray rattles when Lexa eases Clarke onto her back, sliding on top of her with a deliberate cant of her hips, hair tangled wildly, sleep still clinging to her eyelids. “Maybe you should just go solo,” Clarke suggests, and Lexa kisses the hollow of her throat, pouting. 

“Is this going to be a thing?”

“Maybe.” Clarke sinks a finger into Lexa, knuckle deep, and watches her cheeks flush, her lip draw between her teeth. “Maybe I want to see you touch yourself.” Lexa’s hips rock, her head bowing. “Record it, watch it when you’re on one of your trips. Go a little solo myself.”

“Oh,” Lexa says, like it slipped out before she could stop it. Clarke adds another finger, curling, Lexa hot and silky and dripping. “Oh.” Clarke works her, Lexa trembling as she braces herself above Clarke, breathing hard through clenched teeth; every so often she whines, high and pleading, hips twitching. Her body locks up, straining, and Clarke withdraws. Lexa’s eyes fly open. “Clarke--”

Clarke pushes her fingers into Lexa’s mouth, resting on her tongue. “You said I could punish you.” She places her hand on Lexa’s shoulder and applies pressure; Lexa slides down her body, obedient, and Clarke spreads her legs to make room. Lexa parts her lips and presses them against Clarke’s center, through her underwear. Clarke groans, resting a heel on Lexa’s back. “Yeah,” she whispers, and Lexa hooks a finger into her panties, pulling them aside. She spreads Clarke gently with her other hand, slim flexing fingers, and kisses Clarke’s clit, tongue and barely there grazes of her teeth. Clarke shudders. 

“You taste good,” Lexa teases, breath warm, and sucks a bruise into Clarke’s thigh. 

“Don’t tease,” Clarke begs, and Lexa hums against her before her tongue slides inside and Clarke’s eyes roll up into her head. Clarke sinks her hands into Lexa’s hair, digging her nails gently into Lexa’s scalp and tilting herself up into Lexa’s mouth, calf flexing. She watches Lexa eat her out, soft eager noises and hungry little growls, mouth bobbing, tongue thrusting, and Clarke arches, head tipped back and moaning at the ceiling, shaking apart. Lexa works her clit, kitten licks and hollowed cheeks, and Clarke has to push her head away, Lexa biting at her hips until Clarke settles, her shivers fading away. She pets Lexa’s hair, tickling gently over the curve of Lexa’s ear with her nails. Lexa humps against the mattress, mumbling into Clarke’s belly, panting. 

“Please,” she mumbles, and her mouth strings drool across Clarke’s navel before she smears it on her cheek. 

“Not yet.”

Lexa groans, looking up Clarke’s body. “Why.”

Clarke arches an eyebrow. She presses her thumb against Lexa’s teeth. “You said I could punish you.”

Lexa climbs up her, pretty sulk, lips swollen and glistening. “Cruel,” she says, and they kiss, slow, noses brushing. 

Clarke nuzzles under her jaw. “Let me draw you?”

Lexa looks faintly suspicious. “No Titanic references.”

Clarke pouts. “Fine.” Lexa flops next to her and squeezes her legs together. Her hand slips between them and comes away with shining fingers, and she tilts her neck back to flick her tongue around them, obscene. “Vixen,” Clarke accuses, and Lexa smirks, slurping deliberately. “Stop,” Clarke says, testing, and Lexa freezes. Her eyes go dark and she sighs, melting into the mattress, hand falling lax on the sheets. “Don’t move.” Clarke drags herself up, pausing to appreciate Lexa all spread out splayed on the bed, pulse thundering in her throat, hair fanned out under her. She finds what she’s looking for and returns. Clarke tilts her head, questioning; Lexa licks her lips. 

“Yeah. Okay.”

Clarke slips the vibrator into her and lingers to feel Lexa contract against her. She circles over Lexa’s clit, slow, and Lexa wiggles up to kiss her, straining for more when Clarke pulls away. “Okay?” She tucks the small remote into her cleavage and stands, offering Lexa a hand up. “C’mon.”

++

Clarke poses her. Lifts her limp legs and pliant arms until Lexa’s draped over the couch, one leg dangling and one raised, blushing as she’s exposed, all pink and flushed and pretty, wet down her thighs, head tilted back on the armrest. Clarke drags a kitchen chair over and finds a sketchpad in her messy pile on the coffee table. She doesn’t have the patience to go for her charcoals and she settles for a ballpoint pen, rough quick lines layered over each other, Lexa appearing on the paper centimeter by centimeter, slow. “You look good like this,” Clarke murmurs, and watches a shiver start in Lexa’s shoulders and end in her pointed toes. She turns the vibe on and Lexa arches-- “hold,” Clarke asks, and Lexa’s face twists as she fights to still herself, spine curved just so. 

“Clarke,” she says after a few long minutes, pleading, and Clarke makes an affirmative noise. Lexa slumps onto the couch, squeezing her legs together and thrusting up into the air, helpless. 

“Show me?”

Lexa bites her lip; she looks away while she spreads herself open with her fingers. Clarke stands, dropping the pad, and crouches. She taps a finger against the tiny swell of Lexa’s belly and watches her body clench around nothing, another wave of shivers shaking her. “Look at me.” Lexa’s eyes fall to hers, mouth falling open in a moan when she watches Clarke watch her. “You look so good,” Clarke repeats. “So good for me.”

Lexa nods, head jerking. “Yeah,” she says, dreamy and loose. “Please.”

“Not yet.” Clarke bites the outside of her knee, hard enough Lexa yips. She turns the vibe up and Lexa spasms, crying out; her hips circle desperately. “Over,” Clarke says, and Lexa’s eyes are squeezed shut, her breath whistling; Clarke pinches her hip. She waits until Lexa’s on all fours, leaning over the armrest, before flicking it to the highest setting. Lexa collapses, bent over the edge of the sofa, the armrest digging into her hipbones, and humps against it once before stilling. Clarke stands and looks at her, head dangling down, one hand clenched into the bottom of the couch and the other dangling, fingers brushing the floor.

She whines, low and precious. 

“Ssh,” Clarke murmurs, sliding behind her. She cups a hand against her from behind and Lexa pushes back, pleading in the curve of her spine. “I can feel it,” Clarke says, draping herself along Lexa’s back to whisper in her ear. She nips her earlobe. “Buzzing inside you.” She sinks a finger into Lexa, feeling out the vibe against her nail. “Does it feel good?”

Lexa nods, jerky. Clarke palms Lexa’s breast, squeezing, flicking, and Lexa moans. “Feels good,” she pants. 

“Good.” Clarke grinds into her ass. 

Lexa whimpers, then goes rigid. “Clarke--”

Clarke has already turned the vibe off. Lexa’s answering noise is both relieved and anguished, and she jerks under Clarke’s hands. “Good girl,” Clarke soothes, and Lexa exhales, tension melting away. Clarke sits and draws Lexa over her lap, chest against the couch. She rubs a palm over Lexa’s ass, admiring. “Ready?”

Lexa nods, biting at the fabric of the couch. Clarke’s first smack makes her inhale, sharp, then grind down in Clarke’s lap. Clarke runs her nails over the soft pink cloud her hand left behind and coos. “What are you?”

“Your good girl,” Lexa says, and goes limp against her. She mumbles, shivery, wetly, drooling into the couch, and Clarke paints her skin bright red, the only sounds her palm striking down and their jagged breathing. Her hand stings and she can feel the pool of sticky slick dripping onto her from Lexa’s curved body. She draws Lexa further down the couch and turns her over. Lexa flops, wincing when her ass slides against the fabric, and yelps when Clarke aims a gentle hit to her clit. 

Clarke turns the vibe back on, dragging her knees up until she’s hovering over Lexa’s mouth. Lexa makes an eager noise, reaching up, and Clarke lets herself be guided down until Lexa’s tongue can slip up inside her. She drops her weight, careful, and grinds against Lexa’s mouth, Lexa’s hands sliding around her breasts, bent double to feel Lexa suck in desperate gasps of air and hum against her clit. 

Clarke comes, leaned back, hips working against Lexa’s face and her hands braced behind her on Lexa’s hips. She keeps going through her orgasm, long slow rolls of her hips, Lexa’s head moving with her. Her orgasm shines on Lexa’s chin, her mouth, her cheeks. Clarke wiggles until she can lean down to kiss her, chasing her own taste on Lexa’s tongue. “Not yet,” she says, and Lexa whimpers. 

++

Clarke sits in the armchair, jelly legged, feeling sated and warm, a blanket tucked around her shoulders, naked. Lexa shakes on the couch, writhing and thrashing, hands scrabbling. Sweat shines on her skin. “Please,” she gasps, every so often, and Clarke plays with the settings, rumbling low and soft and then firm and relentless, and leaves it on the highest setting. 

“Not yet,” she reminds Lexa, and Lexa sobs. Clarks holds her phone up, capturing. “I’m taking a video,” she tells Lexa, and Lexa arches up, collapsing in a puddle of desperate squirming.

“I can’t--” she gasps, a few minutes later. “Clarke--”

Clarke turns the vibe down. “Walk to the bed,” she says, “and you can come.”

Lexa blinks, rapid, and tries to sit up. She flops back down and cuts Clarke a pleading look.

“Get up,” Clarke coaxes, gentling her tone, “walk to the bed.”

Lexa stands on wobbly legs and stumbles towards the hall, lifting a hand to guide herself along the wall. She stumbles, knees giving out, when Clarke turns the vibe back up, she crawls for two steps before standing again, and makes it to the bed with a last rush of determination. 

“Clarke,” she pants, facedown and sideways, and Clarke takes another picture, Lexa’s legs splayed open and her ass painted in pink red bruises in the shape of Clarke’s palm. Lexa humps the mattress, breathing quickening. “Clarke.”

“Good girl,” Clarke praises. “You need a little more?”

“Yeah,” Lexa says, mumbly. “More. Please.”

Clarke sits on her knees behind Lexa on the bed, drawing a leg up and into her lap. She presses three fingers together and slaps up from Lexa’s knee to the top of her inner thigh, quick and stinging. Lexa jolts with every hit, her noises ratcheting up, and Clarke does it twice before switching to the other leg. She finishes with a light slap across the darkest bruise, and then a soft kiss to the small of Lexa’s back. “Not yet,” she whispers, and Lexa writhes under her. 

She pleads in garbled half sentences, humping down and hands twisted in the sheets, and Clarke sits on her hips, riding her movements and admiring the splay of her hands on Lexa’s shoulderblades, tugging hard at the tangles in her hair. “Clarke,” she manages, coherent for only two more repetition of Clarke’s name before dissolving back into wordless begging. 

“My girl,” Clarke says, possessive. She softens. “My pretty girl.” She slips inside Lexa, two fingers, and crooks them just right. Lexa goes bowstring tight under her, trembling, her mouth stuck open on a moan. “My good girl,” Clarke says, and Lexa comes. A sound escapes, sex drenched and punched from her chest, and Clarke draws the vibrator out between her shuddering waves, sliding down and licking at her, sloppy and slurping and hard dragging teeth, and Lexa rockets into another orgasm, her eyes rolling back into her head, her body slumping. 

She pants, spent and twitching, and Clarke stays draped over her back, murmuring soothing little whispers of love.

++

“Good video,” Clarke says the next morning, smirking as Lexa stares at the screen, swallowing, cheeks blushing furiously. 

“I came without permission,” Lexa says, low, and anytime she says anything even the slightest bit dirty Clarke can feel herself get wet. She looks at Clarke through her eyelashes and Clarke’s belly drops. 

“You did. Should I punish you?”

Lexa picks her up out of the kitchen chair and pushes her onto the table. “Me first.”

 

“--And,” she adds, three fingers deep in Clarke and her lips against Clarke’s throat, Clarke twisting around her and pleading in sharp high pitched keens “--that video better not end up in the cloud.”

**Author's Note:**

> these dopey saps. I kind of feel like my quality has dropped recently and I apologize.
> 
> let me know what you think and catch me on tumblr @ feeltripping


End file.
